


Lonely Hearts Club

by cheetoriko



Category: Original Work
Genre: (Im just putting it out there), (oho), Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Sex, Love Triangles, M/M, Pining, Swearing, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:29:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheetoriko/pseuds/cheetoriko
Summary: Noah is a not-so-proud member of the Lonely Hearts Club - he is like a puppy on a leash that won’t stop following you around no matter how much you kick and scream. He is a real pain in the ass.Lucian is also a pain in the ass. The self-proclaimed heartthrob of the school and now also Noel’s designated rival (Noah begs the differ), it isn’t hard to find something to hate about him.If you were to put these two scumbags through a match-o-meter, the score would come up negative: a match made in Hell. But being as insufferable as each other, a one-night stand manages to occur.Noah knows that one-night stands are just that. One-time thing.Unfortunately, it doesn’t work out that way.
Relationships: Lucian Elizondo/Noah Quintana, Noah Quintana/Brandon Charlier
Kudos: 2





	1. To Drown One's Sorrows

If Noah was telling the truth, he knows full well that he isn’t letting anyone know what they are getting into when they get to know him. He isn’t that stupid to commit social suicide on the first instance that he shakes hands with someone. That would be one surefire way to leave him friendless. Period.

That is because, underlined in red sharpie marker on Noah’s “friendship” contract, Noah is clingy. Not just clingy though - come on, this isn’t just some first world problem. Clingy is the understatement of the century for describing Noah. 

Noah’s the type who would cling onto the teacher’s dress like a parasite. Noah’s the type who invites himself to your family reunions and would probably sneak himself an invitation to your Grandpa’s funeral. Noah’s the type who would take puppy love as a good enough reason to propose in the first week and start a family the second week. Yeah. He’s that insufferable. 

Okay, maybe he is being too hard on himself, but what else do you expect from a law student who is trying to what the adults call “drown their sorrows”? 

So far though, Noah only thinks he is accomplishing one thing drinking so much at this frat party - turning his piss straight up into alcohol. Just like everything in adulthood, alcohol being an effective coping mechanism is another lie. 

Oh well. Noah would rather die as the guy who gave himself alcohol poisoning at the most generic frat party of the decade. He would become a school legend. It doesn’t sound half-bad...So Noah takes another swing of his drink.

“Woah, slow down!”

Ciara tugs back Noah’s arm, confiscating his drink. It finally hits Noah realises that, after being told to slow down by the record holder for every hot-dog eating contest ever, maybe he is going a little too far. 

Still, Noah grumbles like he is being crushed by a pillow. 

“Oh, boo, you’re no fun. Don’t you have other things to be doing?” 

“Actually, yeah, I do. But when my best friend is adamant on trying to drink all the beer available at this party, I kind of have to step in.”

“What? There’s plenty to go around - quit fucking around~”

“Hm, about that. You’ve had complaints.” 

“And? Who the hell is even hosting this party - let me think...uh - oh right, Nyla! Pff, Nyla. She can, fucking, come and tell me herself. Yeah.”

“Noah, can you please do something other than down all the alcohol here because I’m this close”, Ciara’s fingers hover millimetres apart, “To bagging Selena so don’t mess this up.”

“Whatever you say, captain smooth butter.”

“Smooth butter?”

“Yeah...um, isn’t that a saying?”

“Okay, I’m leaving. But no more alcohol. Or else I’m calling the cops...And by that I mean Marcus.”

“Guh, fine, mum.”

Ciara looks at Noah carefully before leaving to pursue her mission. Noah supposes that is his cue to make the rounds. 

Ciara, despite sharing many similarities with Noah, isn’t a member of the lonely hearts club.

It would be a miracle if she met any of the requirements. Ciara is a no-strings-attached kind of girl. She plays hookup of the week and her bucket list comprising every girl (and a scarce selection of pretty boys) in the year is near enough complete. It’s like a game of pinball, the way she jumps from one girl to the next - and it doesn’t even seem to take that much of a mental toll.

Noah sometimes wishes that he could be extricated from this hopelessness of his and just fuck around too. But alas, his alignment is unfortunately with the fedora-tipping nice guy table. 

At least he has Noel to distract him from his mourning period. Noel is the easiest bullying target on the block and it is a blessing (for everyone else but him, of course). Noah sees him right near the staircase - open and vulnerable to toilet paper throws, alcohol spillings and endless possibilities. 

Noah decidedly heads towards the staircase, not bothering to second-guess himself for a split second. Who needs morals anyway? Especially when there are week-old gummy bears still in Noah’s pockets that would make a perfect hair accessory for Noel. Oh, this is_ perfect _. He isn’t even wearing his beret. Nothing could ruin this --

“Argh!”

Noel slingshots forward, scratching the back of his head like an animal with rabies. It is like a scene out of a horror movie when he finally lifts his hand down to reveal a whole family of ants in his palm. 

“Ack! W-What the - Why? What the fuck, what the fuck?!”

And with that, Noel practically kicks down the door to the next room, presumably making a break to the nearest bathroom.

What the fuck.

Who the fuck stole his gig? There is an unspoken rule that Noah is the one who gets to pull pranks on Noel, or at least, gets to do them first before anyone else can bagsy. Noah can’t fathom which motherfucker would steal this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity from him. 

Noah doesn’t have to think on the who-done-it part for long. 

There is some beanpole doubling over and Noah’s first thought is that he is having a cardiac arrest. But when he realises that the laughter anyone in earshot can hear, even the deaf, is coming from him, he knows. He knows that is his culprit - the balloon-cheek, purple-faced, fucktard. 

The fucktard who is obnoxious enough to have a freaking diamond earring on his left ear. The fucktard who is slutty enough to wear a crop top over his shirt, like, what the hell? The fucktard who, after his annoying screamfest in the form of middle school girl giggles, brushes himself off by combing a hand through that thick curl that he probably calls a fringe.

Fuck him.

This is War. 

* * *

“Hey!” Noah propels up the stairs like a five-year-old on Christmas day, “Shit-for-brains! Tall lesbian with the earring!”

And, despite already doing it before, the fucktard digs his hand through his hair again. Now he’s just asking for his well-deserved order of a knuckle sandwich. 

“You have my attention,” (His voice is annoying too. So _ contemptuous _), “Although, I think you’re mistaken on the lesbian part. Unless you have some kind of sick fetish for that, then I’ll oblige.”

“What the _ fuck. _”

“Now, unfortunately, time is precious and I don’t have time to waste,” He eyes at his watch, like he has places to be, “So what did you need?”

“Don’t act like I’m wasting your time, asshole,” Noah plays up the theatrics, pointing towards the bathroom door, “You just - stole my target!”

“Your target,” The fucktard rubs his chin, as Noah just mentioned a peculiar deity (he thinks he’s so smart - playing dumb. He’ll be sorry when Noah throws all over his shoes because this whole display is _ nauseating _), “Oh, Noel? Come on, he’s fair game. He’s the campus’s favourite punching bag!”

Oh, _ fuck him _. 

“Nuh-uh! He’s - He’s mine!”

“Wait...Are you Noel’s fuck-buddy?” (Double _ fuck him _), “Hm, I guess you aren’t too much taller than him. He would get happy meeting someone as stunted as him.”

“I’ll break your kneecaps AND your dumb face.”

“Lay off the face,” He puts his hand under his face as if framing himself as a work of art, “This. This is a masterpiece - I’ve taken time to perfect this baby. But, riddle me this...Who bottoms?”

“W - Fuck you!” Noah wishes that he wasn’t blushing over this, but alas, his body is a traitorous piece of shit and won’t follow suit, “What even are you?”

“The best thing that ever happened to you,” The fucktard twirls around. This is the epitome of insulting, does he think he can get away? “Now, I’m going to get a drink, as you do when you’re at these places. So, want me to get you something?”

“I want you to get hit by a fucking bus, dipshit!”

“...I’ll take that as a Budweiser! Extra strong!”

Noah whips around, realising that his victim has left the scene. It must have been a glitch in the matrix. Surelyhe didn’t leave him here. Surely. 

* * *

“I don’t want your dumb drink!” 

Noah whacks the bottle on the floor like a cat tackling a laser. Noah smirks, taking it as a small victory that the fucktard is gaping at the spilt drink. Maybe if the knife twists back in Noah’s favour, he could get him on his hands and knees, trying to mend together the broken pieces of glass. Unfortunately, life is never that easy and the fucktard just lights up again.

“Owch, brutal! After all the legwork I did to go and get it too…”

“I don’t want to see your ugly-ass anyway!”

“That isn’t how it goes, you know,” Noah remains firmly unsmiling as the fucktard leans against the wall, all casual and blase, “It goes like, so what are you studying? What year are you in?” He shows his hand, spreading his fingers out, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Does he take him for an idiot?

“Eleven.”

The fucktard deflates, his hubris shrivelling away at the seams. He closes in, with a sympathetic smile that just screams ulterior motives.

“You’re so pissed, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah, so much so that I just want to do your face in.” 

And Noah means that. He doesn’t remember agreeing to the ceasefire, and he is still totally planning on going to town on this fucktard tonight. It is unbeknownst to him why, _ oh why _, he is getting cold feet suddenly.

“Easy there, Tiger!” The fucktard poises himself to be as tall as a monolith, “We’ve got the rest of the night ahead of us - take it slow~”

“Jackass.”

* * *

“What…” Noah wakes up with all the energy he can muster up (...which is none), “Ugh, I feel like _ shit _.”

Noah feels like there’s a forcefield trying to pull him back into bed. He reels away from the urge to go back to sleep (unfortunately, sleeping in is another falsehood of adulthood) and awakes to get ready. 

Noah, wondering if he should get an Olympic medal for triumphing out of bed today, goes to head out until...

“What even...The fuck?”

Noah steers away from the door, making his way towards his table carefully as if his dorm has suddenly turned into a minefield. There’s a note...

“Had fun last night ~ Lucian (;”

No. This must be some kind of sick joke...This Lucian...He isn’t...No...No _ fucking _ way.

“_ The fuck? _”


	2. To Maintain Status Quo

Being subjected to McDonald’s breakfast every morning is the cherry on top of the cake for Noah’s miserable life. The big, yellow _ M _ always seems to be looking down on Noah, mocking him for even waltzing up here in the first place. Noah trains his eyes to stick to the ground to ward off the mockery of the McDonald’s logo and makes for it for the door.

As expected, Ciara and Daniel are the only people in this hellhole other than the poor employees who are probably wanting to bunk off because it’s eight in the morning and it’s criminal that the restaurant is even open right now. Noah gravitates towards the table, where Ciara seems too busy having a make-out session with a two-tonne doughnut to greet him. Daniel waves at Noah but so weakly that Noah can’t tell if he’s fully acknowledged his existence or not. 

“You’re late.”

Even through a mouthful of food, her exasperation is as clear as day. Noah supposes she must be suffering from the hangover of champions too. He rolls his eyes and takes whatever Ciara ordered for him in his hand. He takes a thoughtful bite.

“Oh, forgive me, but I’m not exactly ecstatic about having to wake up every damn morning for -” Noah’s taste buds begin screaming at him again. He decidedly swallows down the rest of his ‘food’ whole, “-Well, whatever _ this _ is.” 

“Excuse you - that is the one and only Sausage and Egg McMuffin. God’s greatest gift to us. Please don’t speak her name in vain again. Period.”

“For fuck’s sake, Ciara. Can you lay off a bit?” 

Well, at least it’s confirmed that Daniel is conscious. Well, so much so that he can form coherent sentences. Noah peers at him, eyebrows raised through the roof.

“Oh, Daniel? I thought you were ditching us. Why didn’t you show your face last night?”

Daniel’s lips screwed up as if he was chewing a lemon rind this entire time. He closes his eyes, irritated.

“Shitty art teachers setting shitty art assignments. Yeah, I didn’t really have the time to be babysitting you two.”

Ciara looks Daniel up and down, cow-eyed, as if he was a spectacle to behold.

“I never thought I would see this - the walking and talking stereotype of a college student in the flesh. Man, I almost feel bad for you, dude.”

“This coffee right here,” Daniel looks down into the bottomless pit of his drink, “It’s basically a stand-in for the sleep I missed out on last night. Christ, and even at that, I don’t have a single good idea that I submit for this thing. I think I drew half a stick man or some shit like that…”

“How about you just draw a penis or something? Everyone loves that.” Noah looks up from where he’s crouched down near the table, his finger poised on one of the...Suspects. Daniel death-glares him, looking like he is on the verge of giving him another never-ending lecture on how Noah should learn to read the fucking mood. 

Instead, he settles with the obvious: “...Are you counting the number of dick pictures drawn on the table again?”

“Yep.” Noah doesn’t hesitate to reply so matter-of-factly, “Hey, Daniel, as the _ artiste _ of the group, you should draw one too.”

“Fuck no. Honestly, this place is already ridden with them. I’ve never seen a place with so much table-top graffiti. And it isn’t even good…”

Noah didn’t know that dick-scribblers were liable to Daniel’s moral judgement. 

“Well, it isn’t like Banksy is going to decide to walk into his local McDonald’s to make his next masterpiece.”

“I mean though, can people really think up an idea better than a penis? There are millions of things that we can draw but this is what people choose. Dicks.” 

Daniel falls back into his seat, defeated over something that Noah can’t put his finger on,

“Sometimes, I worry about what our society has come too.” 

“...You need more coffee.” Ciara pipes in, “I’m getting you more coffee.” 

This is much to Daniel’s dismay: “Oh, Ciara. Please, don’t. Each one they give me is piled high with that effing squirty cream and at least half a gallon of toffee syrup. I feel like whenever I take a sip of that wretched thing, I feel the years of my life fizzling away. Like, physically.”

“...I’ll make it extra black.”

“No, I’m just...Uggghhh.”

Daniel collapses forward, knocked out. Maybe they should call an ambulance...

“K.O.!” 

Ciara doesn’t even seem semi-concerned with that last comment of hers, and she makes her way to the counter (for what might be the second or third time). 

With Daniel in his stupor, there is enough silence to give Noah thinking-time.

“Anyway, changing the subject does anyone - I mean…” On breaking the silence, Noah already feels the instant regret rushing into his system, “...Alright, does Lucian Elizondo ring a bell for anyone?”

Daniel practically jumps up and Noah is half-expecting him to break into a musical number.

“Lucian?”

Ciara returns to the table, catching Daniel in a stalemate over his outburst. 

Her lips curl up slowly: “Well, someone’s excited.”

“Shut up, Ciara. I just - I know him. What do you want to know, exactly?”

Noah joins in the game: “I didn’t know I was dealing with a certified expert on the subject.”

“Oh, shut up, Noah.” Daniel looks like he wants to be reborn into another life just so he can be extricated from the embarrassment. He sighs: “Jesus, you were the one who brought him up in the first place.”

“Well, um, could you enlighten me?”

“Uh, sure. If you want me to,” Noah tries to look like he doesn’t care, although he decided to probe on, “Okay, where to begin with Lucian, heh...We know each other. Our parents used to make us go on playdates and all that shit. I couldn’t really get rid of him because I had to keep an eye on him whether he went. I can’t say it exactly sucked though…”

...And he’s going on like a grandfather reflecting on his wedding day. It’s giving Noah the worst case of second-hand embarrassment.

“Daniel. I didn’t ask for your entire life story. Who is Lucian Elizondo?”

Daniel, who was in a trance before, slams his fist on the table in comic-esque fashion. 

“Goddamn it, Noah, I’m getting to it. So, what I was going to say was, er, that Lucian is kind of a...Well, people call him something like a charmer. I mean, I can kind of see their point...He always was smooth and shit...I think one time--”

“Is this you finally coming out of the closet?” Daniel whips around to face Ciara, who has that dumb smirk from before plastering her entire face. Daniel has been exposed.

“W-What? No, I’m answering Noah’s question.”

“Nah, it sounds to me that you’re going on about how you have a raging boner for Lucian Elizondo.” Noah jumps on the bandwagon because come on, nothing beats Daniel’s red hot tomato face.

“I, uh - Tchah! Pricks…”

“Well, come on! You might actually have a chance this time,” Ciara slaps Daniel on the back, causing Daniel to yelp, “Given that Lucian is a hoe.”

Daniel flares up even more at that comment. Bullseye.

“Wait, what? No, he isn’t. I mean - _ fuck _ , I know he does sleep around a lot but _ still _. He isn’t that bad.”

“If Lucian was paid to sleep with people,” Ciara wags her finger back and forth, telling it as it is, “He could pay off all this student debt.”

“Too real, Ciara, too real.”

Silence falls over the table. And we all know what that means for our socially inept Noah: “So, about this Lucian dude...Is he a prostitute or something?” 

Daniel’s face has been stripped away of human characteristics because now he looks like an anime villain about to viciously curse death on his foes.

“_ Jesus Christ _, Noah! He isn’t a prostitute! Or a hoe! He’s just...Is there anything wrong with having sex a lot? Ciara does it all the time! I don’t even know why she is going on like this!”

“Ah, come on, Daniel. A woman needs a good tiddie-sucking once in a while.”

The silence banes the three again but this time even Noah can’t think up some equally inappropriate remark to balance out the mood again. Truly, he has met his match. 

Daniel is the one to speak up (or rather, whimper): “...What?”

Ciara doesn’t rebuttal, overtly unashamed over her comment.

“I think I have lost my appetite.”

“Yeah, same here. Besides, I’ve got to look after the student cafe again.” Noah darts out his seat too, not letting Daniel escape that easily. He begins fake-bawling: “Boo, life is so hard. I have to walk all the way there from here. Daniel - maybe you could use those big, beefy arms of you and carry me --”

Daniel practically teleports towards the exit, unsmiling.

“Not a chance in Hell.”

* * *

Noah always thought McDonald’s was the worst-smelling place ever. The place reeked of the burnt-bits of fries, crying children, and Ronald McDonald. That was until he came across the student cafe.

You can tell that the student cafe is trying to break the world record for how much oil they can smother their food in by the way the place smells. Noah thinks he should have a gas mask as part of his work uniform, but hey, when has anyone listened to his ideas?

But today. Today must be special.

Gagging, Noel recoils away from his locker and makes the announcement: “I’m pretty sure someone has hidden a dead body in my locker.”

Brandon, who has started unpacking his belongings into his locker, only smiles in response: “I doubt that’s the case...Noel was on the shift before us and you two have the same locker.”

Noah redrafts his statement from before: “I’m pretty sure Noel has hidden a dead body in my locker.”

Brandon closes his locker, cocking his head towards Noah with a smile a little bit haughty than before. Just the way Noah likes it.

“I’m impressed, Noah. Did you finally make him snap?”

“Noel snapped long before I met him and we both know that. Seriously, he’s batshit crazy,” Noah strips the assets of his lockers and slams it shut, “But what is the deal about this place smelling so bad?”

“Unfortunately, Noah, I can’t share your woes on this one,” Brandon shuts his eyes, his smile now having a hint of melancholy to it, “You see, I’ve been working here for two years so I think I might have blocked out the smell.”

“This is the cruel fate of university students...Apply for law but only work in a pit of a student cafe.”

“The student debts are still piling up...It’s endless, even at my age,” Noah feels a hand on his shoulder, “But you applied for law?”

Noah tries to pretend that his heart didn’t just try to parachute out of his rib-cage with a nonchalant: “I never told you?”

“Ah, I might have forgotten but this is all new to me,” Brandon closes into Noah’s ear, “It’s quite admirable, in a sense. I mean, my parents always wanted me to become a lawyer or a doctor but I never had the grades to make it. So, I find it impressive.”

“Uh, were you doubting me?” Noah’s heart does a hideous flip-flop as if in protest about having to stay put, “Ha, after all these years, you dare defy me?” 

“Pshaw, Noah, it’s barely been a year,” Brandon finally pulls away from Noah. But before Noah can count his lucky stars, Brandon tips his head back haphazardly, “I still have much to learn about you.”

Noah goes into a cold sweat - his heart palpitations erupting. He tries not to think about how his face must be burning up right now..._ Tries _. He digs his fingernails into the palm of his hand secretly - which is his way of holding his body at gunpoint, trying to stop it acting up for once in its damn lifetime. 

His mouth doesn’t cooperate: “Oh, um…You know, that’s --”

“Is the woman’s gossip club over yet?”

Evelina barely makes eye contact with the two and strolls towards her locker, saving Noah from his shortcomings.

Brandon does his usual mannerisms: “Charmed, Evelina.”

Evelina turns around, looking low on gas: “Seriously, can you guys take over for me now? Someone has just asked for Szechuan sauce and if they start having an aneurysm over how they’re Pickle Rick, I think that’ll be the last straw for me.”

Noah verses in, not to be helpful though: “Wow, someone’s getting antsy. Are you sure you haven’t snapped yet?”

Evelina strikes her finger out and Noah and for a moment, he thinks that might be the end of his sad existence. 

“Trust me, Noah, you’d be the first to know if I did.”

The threat, however, dissolves in midair as Noah is reminded that Evelina is just an edgy too-old teenager.

“Eek, scaryyy!” He whines, which must have sealed the deal in Evelina’s head that she will badmouth Noah after he's out of earshot given by the scowl she gives.

“Uh, guys? Someone just gave me a bible of an order...I don’t understand half the words in this.” 

Nyla is the next to walk through the door, miffed, with the culprit of the order in her hands. Evelina nods.

“Yeah, our shift is _ definitely _ over. Come on, Nyla.”

Nyla goes to abandon ship too, wrestling into her jacket.

“But what even is Cardamom?”

Evelina, wishing that she can go back in time for Nyla’s sake, can only place a hand on her shoulder: “Nyla, not in front of the culinary student.”

Nyla stares at Evelina, saucer-eyed. She spins around the room, as confused as a baby just out of the womb.

“Wait, really? Who?”

“I’m not naming and shaming.”

“Why, I swear I told you, Nyla.” Brandon comes clean.

“Brandon? Really?” Nyla sheepishly rubs the back of her head, “Oh, wow. I’m sorry - I thought you were joking when you told me. Wait, no, that wasn’t supposed to come out that way either...Sorry.”

“No, I get it a lot.”

“..._ Right _ . I guess that’s our cue, haha.” Nyla, as if she couldn’t do any more damage, lobs Brandon a mawkish grin and says through her teeth: “Catch you later... _ Pal. _”

Evelina exhales: “Come on, Nyla.” 

“Yeah, got it.”

Nyla, shame-faced, trails after Evelina to exit the scene. Brandon, on the door closing, clicks his tongue and picks up the piece of paper. 

“Now, time to decipher whatever this hat trick is.” He states, akin to Sherlock Holmes who is starting to find his lead on a case. Noah peaks over to read the order. Nyla was right - Noah didn’t even know that it was humanly possible to pile so much into a coffee cup. 

“I mean, I know what cardamom is - seriously, I’m not a dumbass like Nyla - but do we even do it here? I mean, the only ingredient I know we have is oil. A fuckton of oil.”

“I’m surprised that deep-fried pizza is not on the menu.”

Noah blinks hard: “Deep-fried...What now?”

Brandon can’t even stomach the idea himself: “Yes - it’s horrendous and as a culinary student, it’s painful to hear it. I don’t even know why I brought it up.”

“‘Nutmeg, but just the ground stuff’...Pfft, as if we would have some whole-ass nutmeg lying around,” Noah claps his hands together, a gleam of deviltry in his eyes, “Oh, sir! I’m so glad you asked for a sprinkling of nutmeg! I’ll add a drop to your instant coffee.”

“Sheesh, Noah, assuming the genders of our customers. Tsk-tsk.”

“I mean - we all know who it is already.” Noah picks the lint off his clothes, really not wanting to change the topic to _ him _ of all people, “It’s that Kristopher dude again, isn’t it? You know, the guy who still has his hood up...Indoors.”

“Kristopher’s fine, really,” Trust Brandon to rush to Kristopher’s defence - he’s like everyone’s lawyer, “I share a few classes with him.” 

“I have a hard time believing that when he gives us these orders,” Noah signals towards Brandon’s locker. Noah knows, if he really wanted to, he could have whatever his heart desired out the abyss of Brandon’s bag - everything known to man might just be in that one bag. Moral of the story - never doubt the culinary student, “At least you’re prepared for him.”

“Don’t underestimate the culinary student,” Brandon goes to ferret around his locker, “I think I brought everything we need to satisfy him.”

“The fact that you can take this all with a smile is amazing really,” Noah, realising what he just said might come off as more genuine than he wants, redoubles back on his statement: “Actually, it’s offensive. It’s inhumane.”

“What can I say - I’ve been in this business for too long,” Brandon grins, the corner of his eyes crinkling at the seams, “And besides, you do make this shift a bit more uplifting than it should be.”

And there it is again. Noah is thrown back into all those emotions that he would rather not be dealing with right now. If you hadn’t noticed the glaring neon sign, Noah has a thing for Brandon. It is anything but romantic or cute or any of the words Ciara has used to taunt him about it (the mistake of Noah letting Ciara know about Brandon still plagues him till this day). Whenever Brandon does a move like that, Noah feels he is about to choke out a hairball that has probably been hair boiling in his system, just waiting for the day of judgement to come. But, as always, his mind more adamant on making Noah’s life a mentally taxing rollercoaster than giving him cat-like reflexes. 

“Noah, would you mind taking over till though?” Brandon interrupts Noah’s inner-monologuing, bringing him back to reality. 

“Only flattery, eh?” Noah insinuates, trying to justify to himself that Brandon’s words are nothing other than politeness and merely platonic. 

“Oh, please, I know that wouldn’t work on you. I was being genuine,” (Noah’s hormones go animalistic), “But I will remind you that someone has to take guard when I go and make this order.”

“Uh, then, sure.” Noah blubbers, tiptoeing out of the room, part of him wanting to get out of here ASAP but another part of him wanting to stay and endure this torture. 

“Good that you’re being so compliant for once,” Brandon returns to his prowl, “I’ll be back in a moment though. Just keep the place at bay, yeah?”

Noah lamely nods and his body finally adheres to letting him leave.

* * *

Thankfully, when Noah gets out of the break room, there isn’t some guy having an aneurysm over how he is Pickle Rick or whatever he’s called. In fact, the odds are in Noah’s favour today as the cafe looks quiet, which gives Noah the leeway to slack off. 

Brandon returns from behind the scenes, palming a steaming mug of the mystery drink. Noah hawkishly observes him hand over the drink to Kristopher.

“Well, here’s your coffee, you hooligan,” Brandon says, as Kristopher inches his fingers to clutch the mug.

“Um, you know if it is too much trouble, I can cut it down a bit.” Kristopher eyeballs elsewhere, which only makes Brandon lean forward, still as happy-go-lucky as ever. Noah tries to pay them no attention but, hey, jealousy is par for the course when you’re as dumbstruck as Noah.

“Oh, I was only teasing. Besides, I wouldn’t put you through drinking instant coffee. I swear I don’t even know why we charge people so much for it…”

“Ah, then...Thanks. Uh...Yeah.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Brandon tilts his head, making his smile go sideways, “Also, did you want anything else with that? I wouldn’t mind making the trip back to my apartment if your palette desires it~”

Noah’s mouth sours at this whole display. He doesn’t even get why Brandon must go over the line for every tedious order that Kristopher makes. In his opinion, someone (him if he had any balls) should tell Kristopher to fuck off so they can just stop trying to demystify his monster of the week of an order. He is a pain in the --

“Excuse me? Excuse me? Excuse me?”

“Guh?”

Just millimetres any from Noah’s face, someone was snapping their fingers together in annoying, little staccato bursts. _ Great _, a walking and talking customer.

“Jeez, the service in here! I was clicking my fingers foreveeer, you have no idea. You’re lucky I’m not calling down the manager,” The guy lowers his glasses (what an idiot, wouldn’t that make his vision worse?), his lips pursing together as he scrutinises Noah. “Wait a moment…”

At this very moment, Noah realises that it is both a blessing and a curse he is much quicker than most of the buffoons around him because this is the last person he wanted to see. Lucian, given by how he got his brain surgically removed when he was eleven, seems to be a beat late on realising who Noah is. 

Maybe if he plays his cards right, Noah can make it seem like they never met and the idiot will wonder what sort of acid dream he had the night before.

“Can I just take your order?” Noah, with zero-tolerance, interjects whatever half-baked thought Lucian must be having. 

Lucian, with zero human-decency, slams his hands on the table: “You’re the guy from last night!”

Okay, Noah, stay cool. He’s a moron, remember? Stick to the game plan. 

“Sorry, but the guy-from-last-night machine broke. Try again next time - goodbye.”

“How cold-blooded. And to think, I was going to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime too,” Lucian stops wiping away his fake-tears and ogles around, eyebrows knitting into a firm line, “Oh well. I guess someone will have to get used to working at this repulsion - seriously, do you guys kill fish here or something? Or people?”

“I’ll gut you alive if that’s your style.” Whatever Lucian is plotting, Noah is not having it. He’ll shoot down any idea he throws at him.

“I’ll take that as a ‘Sorry about that, I want to hear about this opportunity though’.”

(He really doesn’t).

“You’re holding up the queue.”

(See, he _ really _ doesn’t).

“Oh, come on, there is no queue. Anyone with half a brain cell wouldn’t touch this place with a barge pole.”

“Oh, then you being here makes _ a lot _ of sense.”

“Shit! Can you just let me do what I got to do?” Lucian’s head drops and Noah wonders if now would be a good time to hit him over the head with the till, “Ahem, I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh, I’m _ thrilled _.”

“How would you like to be my partner-in-crime?”

“Say what now?”

“Do I have to spell it out to you?” Lucian, even though no one asked him too, starts astral-projecting his grand plan, “I’ve never met someone who finds the same amount of pleasure as me making Noel’s life a living Hell! And anyway, I know what you’re like in bed, you freak --”

“_ Holy _ \- Go to Hell. Seriously. People are going to hear --”

Noah, before throttling Lucian across the room, makes sure that the coast is clear. For a once-in-a-lifetime moment, Noah is fortunate enough that Brandon is not in earshot. Lucian, however, has moved away from the counter, as if he could sense that Noah was about to rib him like the black belts do it.

“Why are you acting like it’s a bad thing?” Lucian pumps his fist on his chest, “You should be honoured that you got to bang me - I sure know I am~”

“No deal.”

“What?”

“No deal. I’ll call down my manager, you know, like you wanted before? Would you like that?”

“You’re...Alright, your loss. But I’ll have an Iced Frappé before I go.”

“You...Huh. Sure.”

“What’s that I hear? Second thoughts?”

“In your dreams.”

“And hello Vincent!” Lucian whips around to face the customer who just came in (with said customer now wanting to be anywhere else but here), “Noah, add a hot chocolate to that order but hold the sugar - he won’t need anymore when I’m around~”

Despite weaselling his way out of Lucian’s contract, something feels...Off. For someone that seemed so unnervingly eager, Lucian’s moved on at the speed of light. Is it some kind of sixth sense that people have? Is one of his genes just mutated? Why is it so easy for them? For people like Lucian to just...Leave it at that. To not spend nights dwelling over if that remark meant this or that. To flirt with people like they’re just to toy with. To make a move on someone and not act like it’s the end of the world if they turn you down. 

The kettle sounds off like an alarm bell and Noah avalanches the boiling hot water into the instant hot chocolate. Finished.

“Here are your orders.” Noah lobs the said orders across the counter, bewildering the customer Lucian seemed to be flirting with. Said customer, however, snatches the mug instinctively.

“T-Thanks...Um, I’m kind of in hurry Lucian, so I hope you don’t mind that I --”

“What? Leaving so soon? I can send in a letter to your professors saying you can’t sit upright after I’m finished with you. Wait, come on! Come back --” Lucian, however, doesn’t seem to have any intention of leaving as he suavely elbows the counter, “Ha, the one who got away, am I right?”

“Here’s your frappe, fuckface.”

Cue another completely unnecessary gasp from yours truly: “Hey! You can’t just say that to a customer!”

“Are you going to leave me in peace now?”

Lucian sighs, “I suppose, but if you ever need anything, just let me know~”, He flaps his hand up in a way that’s both casual yet overdramatic (which is quite the balancing act), “Ciao!”

It’s slow-dawning at first, but then it hits Noah. It’s like he’s realised that he’s been stuck in a time loop this entire time, going back and forth in this interaction. Because his psyche, once again, is doing what it does best by overthinking and stripping apart that one word Lucian said. Anything? As in, anything at all? 

This might be a good idea.

“Uh, wait!”

“Yes?”

This might be a bad idea.

“Shit, um...You…”

“You’re killing me in anticipation here - don’t leave a boy in climax-mode!”

“What even are you? No, shut up for...I need to ask you something,” (This is absolutely the worst idea of the century. Seriously, Noah knows that his mind is one to shove him under the bus but _ this _ . _ This is... _), “Will you, um, take me on a date?”


	3. To Get Signals Crossed

There’s a good reason for parents asking their children not to do stuff. It’s because children are feebleminded beings that still need to differentiate from what is right and wrong. It’s because, by the time they have grown up, the parents will be awarded a level-headed child who is going to study law, who is sensible enough to no longer rely on their help.

That...Would be in an ideal world.

Because today. Today is the day that Noah is feeling guilt-ridden by how he has made an unprecedentedly unmedicated and uneducated choice. 

Because right now, on Earth, at what must be nearing two o’clock in the afternoon, Noah stands outside a wasteland, waiting for the tumbleweed to pass him and say _ Wow, this is atrocious _. 

“What the fuck is this place?”

“Use your eyes and read the sign,” Lucian points upwards towards the ‘sign’, “It’s the _ Rocket Propelled Strikers Bowling Alley _\- pure, unfiltered family fun!”

“I’m having a bit of trouble reading the sign when it looks like it has been eaten and spat right out again by zombies,” Noah ducks his head back down before he is blinded by the sunlight, “Seriously, this whole place looks like the aftermath of the apocalypse.”

“I actually didn’t premediate this one…” Lucian holds his chin at the cusp of his fist, “I mean, shit, it was open two years ago. My mum used to take me --”

“How romantic.”

“Jesus Christ,_ no _. I’m not some motherfucker.”

“Ha, you literally are.”

Lucian carries on, despite being outed for taking his mother out on dates _ just two years ago _: “Anyway, it used to be great. There was an arcade and we knew one the employees so they kept restarting the machines so I’d get the top rank on the leaderboard! Those losers who had their scores erased were so pissed, you have no idea.”

It sinks in that Lucian was trying to brag to him. 

“...I can’t believe you used to come here to crush the dreams of _ children _ . By _ cheating _.”

“It wasn’t like that...Well, they were _ twelve _. It isn’t a big deal, okay?” 

“Well...Now what?”

And back to the problem in hand. Lucian and Noah. Outside a deserted bowling alley car park. In the excruciating sun. 

This is Hell. Noah is in Hell. And -- Oh my God, the demon has taken ahold of him!

“I guess we could sneak in - They haven’t knocked down the place completely so I think the actual bowling alley might be there. We could buy a bunch of beer bottles and slide down the lanes --”

“I’m not doing that,” Noah grapples out of Lucian’s grip, mutinous, “This place looks haunted and if I walk inside, I’ll be cursed by at least a zillion ghosts.”

“Ugh, _ fine _, you killjoy.” Lucian, at a loss, scratches his finger against his cheek, “W-Well, lucky for you, like the good host I --”

“No one says that.”

“Says what?”

Noah reclarifies himself for the idiot: “No one says they're the host of the date. Absolutely no one ever.”

“But, what I was trying to say was, Plan B.”

* * *

Noah has descended to another level of Hell as it would appear that he is now outside the demon’s dorm room.

“Now, a lot of people don’t get to come here till the fourth date,” Lucian, despite the one dragging him here, is dawdling over whether he should open the door or not, “So...Count yourself lucky.”

“I’m doing everything but.”

“Now - _ Maxwell?! _ ” Lucian jumps out of his skin at the redhead, currently glued to the boxy television on the ground, “What are _ you _ doing here?”

The redhead squints his eyes at Lucian, only inching away from the television screen.

“I live here?”

“No, like, right at this very moment?”

“My classes got off early,” The redhead declines back, snooping at Noah: “Who’s this?”

“None of your - Wait, no. This is my wonderful, sexy date --”

Noah death-glares Lucian: “Never say that again.”

It seems to do the trick: “Ahem, my date.”

The redhead is incredulous (and rightfully so). 

“Really?” 

“What do you mean_ ‘Really’ _ ? You should be used to this by now, _ right _?”

“Oh, no. It’s just this is the first time I think I’ve ever seen you --”

“Maxwell quit running that mouth of yours or you’ll attract flies,” Lucian spouts out, with the same energy as a dragon about to deck a puny village-man, “It’s a well-known fact that a gamer’s breath stinks like a ferret-gone-feral.”

“Alright, just pretend I’m not here then,” Maxwell puts his nose on the television screen again, “I’ll just continue trying to force my soul into animal crossing so I’m not living a constant state of despair in reality!”

“...Too much information, Maxwell,” Lucian merely acknowledges Maxwell’s cry-for-help, shifting Noah’s attention away from the sad lowlife, “Now, Noah, let me escort you to my side of the room.”

“I can pretty much tell where it is. I have eyes, remember?”

Lucian makes an _ O _shape with his lips before pouncing onto the bed, unhinged. 

“Well, if you make yourself comfortable next to me --”

“No way.”

“Aww, there’s no need to be shy~”

“I like the sense of empowerment of being taller than you when standing up,” Noah straightens his back out, salvaging his moment of glory for what it’s worth, “It takes away my urge to kick in your kneecaps too.”

“Uh...Suit yourself then,” Lucian flips his phone out from his pocket, “Now, what do you want to watch?”

“Netflix and chill? Are you kidding me? You couldn’t be any more creative --”

“Who said this was Netflix?”

And, on cue, the _ Pornhob _ tune plays. It’s pure agony to Noah’s ears.

“Fuck. No.”

“Well, what will it be?” Lucian begins scrolling through the website’s ‘Options’, “Vanilla wedding porn or hardcore BDSM?”

“Wow,” Noah, who might have lost every fibre of his being just moments ago, stares at Lucian, poker-faced: “Is that all you have to offer me? Or are you just hiding that you have a massive foot fetish or something and you’re just holding out for me to request that?”

Lucian goes quiet.

“Your silence is not helping the situation here,” Noah presses his hands into his temples, hoping that maybe, just maybe, if he presses the right place, he can just end it right here and now, “What the hell though? Seriously, we’re acting like two sad neckbeards that are so lonely that instead of, you know, maybe having a decent interaction with the other one - they’re sitting down, watching porn because they can’t lay off jacking off _ that _ much.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to add jacking off into the equation, because now that you mention it --”

“I can’t watch this anymore,” Maxwell, a guardian angel, graces Noah with his words: “So before this turns into a trainwreck, how about you guys just play the Switch with me?”

“Hey! What did I say?” Lucian springs off the bed: “Noah and I are having adult discussions. Go back to playing with your animal villagers or something, you furry.”

“You really must lead a sad existence, Lucian, if you think every animal crossing player is a furry…” Maxwell genuinely looks disappointed at what humanity has come to with Lucian’s very remark, “I know you want me to stop pitying you, but it’s really hard when you act like this.”

“Sheesh! Will I have to whip you to keep your mouth shut?”

“I’m just saying,” Maxwell continues, “If you don’t want your, er, your ‘date’ to file a restraining order on you - I’d listen to me, yeah? We could _ Snipperclips, Rocket League _...Whatever you want.”

“Ugh, fine, mum. Just so you know though, you’re _ such _ a killjoy.”

Noah quite happily jumps at the chance to be released from Lucian’s custody (albeit temporarily). Maxwell is the stark opposite of a killjoy and knows what fun is at face value - _ Mario Kart _ , _ Super Smash Brothers _and all that jazz. Maxwell’s company is unparalleled to Lucian’s. Period. Lucian, despite his complaining, seems to enjoy himself too.

Maxwell suddenly speaks up: “Hey, Lucian?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s getting pretty late, yeah?”

He’s right - it’s pitch black outside which teaches Noah that he has to take ‘_ Time flies when you’re having fun _’ by namesake.

Lucian gapes like a chimp in response: “Uh, last time I checked I don’t abide by a bedtime.”

“No, that isn’t what I meant…”

“Maxwell has a point,” Noah, really considering just kissing Maxwell right now because now he’s letting him get away from the clutches of Lucian for good, gets up, “It is getting really late now that I think about it.”

Maxwell, however, probes on, as if his work isn’t done here yet: “So…?”

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Lucian forks his hand through his hair, making Noah sick to his stomach for what must be the twentieth time today, “What’s this? Have you finally become bewitched by me, Maxwell? Do you really think that now is a good time for that?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Maxwell makes his disapproval clear, “Look. I guess I better spell it out again, yeah? Shouldn’t you, like, walk Noah home? Isn’t he your ‘date’?”

Lucian, living up to his title as the nation’s idiot, doesn’t seem to get it.

“...What does Noah being my date have anything to do with walking him home?” (And as if he couldn’t get any worse), “Maxwell, honestly, I’m offended that you think Noah is now a vegetable incapable of making it to the next fucking dorm block because he’s on a date with me.”

“Lucian, if you don’t want to die alone, I would listen to my advice now before you regret it,” Maxwell gestures towards Noah, who must be looking like the unhappiest man in the world, “What I’m saying is that a good date would walk their, um, partner home, right?”

“Honestly, what am I even witnessing right now?” Noah decidedly zips up his jacket, “Look, it’s fine. I can make my own way back --”

“No! Lucian is going, right?”

“I never said anything about -” And, as proof that modern problems require modern solutions, Maxwell lobs a shoe in Lucian’s face, “-_ Owch _ ! Hey! What the _ fuck _, Maxwell?”

“I’m serious,” Maxwell doesn’t have an ounce of repentance on his face, “I’m doing you a big favour here.”

“Ugh, yeah yeah,” Lucian pulls himself off the floor, makes it to the door, but not before brandishing his fist in Maxwell’s direction, “But throwing a shoe in my face was just uncalled for.”

* * *

Noah ponders whether or not Maxwell throwing a shoe at Lucian was compensation for the God-awful date he took him on. Anyway, he’s grateful that the red mark that must be imprinted on Lucian’s dumb face is keeping his mouth shut. If he prays on it, he might have him tight-lipped for the whole journey back to his dorm.

Seems like life has other plans.

“I swear, I can’t _ stand _ Maxwell sometimes,” Lucian rants, whining aloud so that the birds fly out of their nest in fright, “What does he even mean that I won’t be a good date if I don’t walk you home? Why is he acting like you’re suddenly incompetent and can’t walk to the next block?”

“Honestly, I think my brain has already begun shutting down,” Noah sasses, “So, Maxwell had a point. I might actually pass out because of my depleting number of brain cells!”

That’s enough to beat Lucian back in submission. All is tranquil…

“But what’s effed up is that he has the nerve to say that I won’t be a ‘good date’,” (Noah must have second-guessed himself thinking that Lucian’s rant would be over), “Excuse him. I fucking knocked your socks off with this date. This has been definitely a ‘good date’.”

And now it’s in Noah’s playing court. To break or to not break the silence - that is the question. But, when you are dealing with such a special case like Lucian, you have to shed light on the situation. And Noah doesn’t beat around the bush.

“...Good date my ass.”

“W - What are you even talking about? Wait, no,” Lucian scoffs in disbelief, “What? I mean, this has been a great date. Haha! You’re so funny, Noah. You should try stand-up comedy!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Noah exclaims deliberately, “That was the worst date ever, dude.”

“Huh?”

“Why do they even call you a womaniser,” Noah narrows his eyes on Lucian, patronizing his meekness, “Wait, was that in fucking primary school when you were two-timing with your mum and your gran or something because you would call any woman you laid your eyes on your ‘girlfriend’? Because you were four and didn’t know the fucking meaning of the word?”

“...You don’t hold back any punches, do you?”

Lucian subdues, feigning a smile. 

“Look, I’m just…” Noah rekindles the conversation, “Sorry, my bad. I guess that was a little aggressive, even for me.”

“Noah, you know…” Lucian tries to summon some courage, which Noah thought there was plenty of before (he would say it serves him right for being an arrogant asshole but, for once, he knows that isn’t appropriate), “Ugh, this is a _ shit _ idea.”

“Tell me about it. Today’s been full of --”

“I’m not a womaniser,” Lucian exhales the word as if the world’s weight has finally been lifted off his shoulders, “Or heart-throb. Or slut. Or whatever they’re calling me these days. I have better things to focus my attention towards but...Yeah.”

And just like that, Noah’s plan has been undermined and rendered useless. This whole time, he has been trying to learn from this so-called ‘Womaniser’ only to be back a square one? 

“What the hell,” Noah tries to clear the radio static plaguing his mind as he tries to process what Lucian just said, “I mean, what do you do? With all those…”

“Jesus, I don’t know why everyone thinks I do it,” Lucian cleaves his hand through his hair, disheveling it, “It would be unsanitary of me to go around fucking every hillbilly I see. I do have some standards, yeah?”

“So, what?” Noah steps right in front of Lucian’s tracks, hands on his hips, “Do you pay people to spread these rumours or - I swear if you are, the whole campus wouldn’t have to pay tuition fees! Because --”

“That’s not how it goes down,” Lucian was going to direct Noah head-on, but he mellows down, “They’re usually into me, at first anyway. It’s like...You still remember that party, right? I mean, I don’t blame you if you don’t, you were barely conscious...” 

“Lucian just cut to the damn chase already.”

“I didn’t sleep with you, okay?” Lucian puts out his hands, shielding himself from whatever wrath Noah might give him, “I just - It’s weird, okay? I feel..._ Bad _ . Sure, I do kind of lead myself into these things but I realize...People aren’t sober at these things. And you weren’t sober. It’s like - What would happen to these people if they were just...Well, _ fuck _ . I can’t leave people like that - _ no way _.”

“What about the note then?” Noah yells (_ fuck _ him for acting like some type of saint), “Why would you even put that thought in my head? You know how much hell you’ve put me through?”

“And what if we did sleep together?” Lucian rebuttals, “I don’t know why this isn’t a relief to you! I would have fucking_ raped _ you, Noah.”

“The note, Lucian.”

“...I…” Lucian smacks his lips together, “You’re really sharp, aren’t you? Well, I guess I’ll tell.”

Noah waits for the punchline. 

Lucian does not deliver: “Let me put it this way - a man’s got a reputation to keep intact.”

“Lucian...You know those things you said?” Lucian must be trying to exploit Noah, because, for once, Noah has to try and wrap his head around the situation: “About being a slut? About being a ra...No. Why would you even want to come across like that?”

“I’m - You know, it’s not like I’m ‘sleeping’ with any rando.” Lucian explains, “We usually hit it off, stuff like that. Sometimes, I even get to play beer pong, as you do. But...I know by the time they’re sober, they don’t even want to give me the time of day.”

“You suck,” Noah puts it out there. He says it unrelentingly, unremorsefully. But when he sees Lucian’s face droop, he abides by the small sense of pity in him: “But this...This whole thing you’re doing...It must also really suck. So _ why _?”

“I need to come across as someone like that,” Lucian continues, “Someone who isn’t held down. Someone who doesn’t have any commitments. Because I need to seem like I’m, you know, that way?”

Lucian snorts.

“Pfft, I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this,” Lucian bends down to see Noah at face-level, “Guess your face is just that cute, heh.”

“Come on, man,” Noah is anything but impressed, “You’ve already started your tragic backstory. Might as well finish it for the audience at home.”

“What are you even on about? The audience at home?” Lucian stares into the abyss, on the same wavelength at the guy who looks into the camera from _ The Office _, “Pshaw, they can eat my ass.”

“_ Lucian. _”

“Christ, won’t you have a little sympathy for your excruciating hero?” Realising that Noah’s half-moon eyes express little sympathy, Lucian carries on, “Anyway, since someone seems like they won’t give up...I’ll tell you, Noah.”

There is another pause. Noah doesn’t interrupt it - he knows the importance of dramatic tension. 

“I don’t want to get into another relationship,” Lucian suspends the cliffhanger, “I mean, not after last time.”

“Can you stop being vague?” Noah is still not satisfied, “Who was this mister last time?”

“You’re like a prosecutor,” Lucian smirks, “I swear, are you studying law?”

“Oh wow, how did you know?” Noah is almost impressed, “Want a gold sticker?”

“Really?”

“_ No. _”

“Heh, well that explains why you’re so pushy,” On seeing Noah’s face fall slightly, Lucian recalculates and comes out with: “It does play in your favour, thank God. Otherwise, I’d be thinking ‘Who is this sassy brat and why do they keep demanding me for information’?”

“...You’re…” That just made Noah feel worse, “Look, Lucian. I’m sorry. I didn’t --”

“No, no,” Lucian reassures, “I’ve gone this far anyway. And besides - you’re probably about to combust all over me with all this excitement, am I right?”

“Gross.”

“Well, that mister last time,” Lucian closes his eyes, misleading Noah to think that there is going to be the next pause of the night. But instead, he says: “Brandon Charlier.”

“Eh?”

“Brandon Charlier.”

“Ah.”


	4. To Open One's Wounds

Lucian is giving Noah a mental work-out here. They keep walking along the path, Lucian with his hands behind his head and Noah counting squares on the path. 

“I think you know him, right?”

“Um, yeah,” Noah replies, lacklustre, “I’m stuck with him on my shift. You know, at the cafe?”

“I don’t get why you work there,” Lucian scorns, “It’s a  _ hellhole _ .”

“Some of us are poor, Lucian.”

“Oh? Did I hit a nerve?”

“We’re all broke, Lucian.”

“Okay, enough about the money crisis,” Lucian changes the subject, grinning but with deep-rooted sorrow, “So yeah. I wanted Brandon to have my children. Yes, it was that fucking bad. But when I told him...He turned me down. I know, I was surprised too. He said it’s because he already had someone - First time I knew about it though. He seemed pretty single and ready to mingle up until this year…”

“Noah - Truth is...I went to the cafe that day not to bother you, but to see Brandon,” Lucian sighs, “He seemed like he was busy with that one guy again - you know, the one who orders piss in his lemonade?”

“It’d be Icelandic piss knowing him…”

“Ha - Deadass.”

“Hey, um, looks like we’re here.”

And hallelujah. All of Noah’s snarky comments have run dry and he needs to recharge. Immediately. 

“FINALLY,” Lucian switches back into his persona no problem, “We’ve been walking for hours! And I was holding out for you to collapse into my arms so I can carry you bridal-style! So, this is your FYI for next time!”

“Next -” Noah shakes the thought away, “- No, forget that. I’m tired as fuck and I can’t be bothered talking to your sadass anymore.”

“I just opened my wounds up for you! Were you brought up by gremlins or some shit like that?”

“Nah, I was messing with you there,” Noah bites his lip, before quickly saying: “Hey, um...I had fun. So...Bye.”

* * *

Noah pillows his head into his bed, his groan resounding across the room as if to announce that the world has finally broken him. Congratulations, you shithead.

Unfortunately, the little prosecutor in him doesn’t seem to be done yet. Trust good old ‘ _ time-to-overthink-every-single-detail-of-that-conversation _ ’ to be alive and kicking even at this time. Noah sighs, rolling over so he doesn’t end up stifling himself in his mattress. This is why he isn’t a conversationalist. 

Anyway, with Noah watching his ceiling, little prosecutor takes to the stage. What was that about Brandon liking someone? Lucian did mention that he might have only got that way this year...Which would mean…

Now, this might be wishful thinking (or, what Noah likes to call, a surefire way to keep him up all night), but who joined this year? The egotist in him is screaming his name.

And then. It’s just Noah.

This is it. He can finally retire out of his role as a member of the lonely hearts club - be a free man. 

He doesn’t get what is holding him back from running outside and blasting the boombox outside of Brandon’s dorm. Well, maybe the fact that everyone in Brandon’s dorm block would have every right to call the police on him but other than that. 

Is it because of that Lucian? You know, the guy you were plotting to kill hours ago? Yeah, right.

Yeah,  _ right _ .

* * *

Something is wrong. Okay, there’s usually something wrong at the student cafe but this is on a whole other league. Whatever that has happened is so diabolical that Evelina, Nyla and Brandon have resorted to witchcraft. 

They are in what looks to be a prayer circle and are whispering amongst themselves (probably about their new demon overlord and how they are now in his legion). This should be a red flag to Noah that he should run to the hills and never look back. 

But curiosity killed the cat.

“I feel like I’ve walked into a crime scene…” Noah hovers around them, trying to see what they are huddling around, “So, does that mean I can bunk off?”

They’re all too distraught to give a proper response to that. 

“As a culinary student, this is painful.”

“I now have seen the dark side of the world,” And, like the red sea parting, Nyla pulls out the circle, “That bread can, in fact, be bad.”

And then all is unveiled. In front of Noah lies an anomaly. Something that he is meant to believe was once bread. But now, he sees a conquered soldier, beaten blue, no,  _ green _ in mould.

“Guys, I’m just putting it out there that I wish I was the idiot who committed this atrocity just so I could get fired from this shitshow of a job,” Evelina's voice is raspy as if the bread’s odour is so strong that she is having difficulty breathing, “Seriously, I think I saw it  _ move. _ ”

Noah observes the three who are in a deadlock with this abomination. It seems like this strange turn of events has appointed Noah the straight man of the group.

“Oh, no! Not the evil bread monster!” Noah laughs but everyone remains shell shocked. He sighs: “But guys, aren’t you overreacting a little?”

Brandon faces Noah, painstakingly sombre and unsmiling, which only happens once in a blue moon. Noah steels himself.

“Noah, in all my years working here, I can say that this is _ bad _ .”

“Uh, you can go out the back if you want,” Evelina suggests, probably scared that at any moment, Brandon could go berserk over this malformation (which they need to think up a name for because calling it br*ad would be downright wrong).

“No, no.” Brandon straightens up, forging the best smile he can, “We’re adults. So we have to deal with this in a mature fashion. Like adults.”

Nyla’s sanity thins at the very idea that they will have to fix this predicament. 

“Yeah, but they didn’t say anything about this in adulthood!”

“They don’t warn us, Nyla. They never do.” Evelina discloses like a police officer telling a family that their loved one is dead. 

“Go to university, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.”

Nyla starts throwing something akin to a tantrum...Except that tantrums are off the table in adulthood so her only option is to go into the fetal position and wail...You know, as you do as a responsible adult.

“Calm down,” It is now Brandon’s turn to provide the awkward reassurance to Nyla, patting her back (which makes her howl even more), “I know the situation is dire but...We just have to dispose of the bread, right? The quicker we get rid of it, the quicker we can forget about this.”

“...Ducks.” Noah thinks aloud, “We should feed it to the ducks.”

“Isn’t that animal abuse?” Even in the current state of affairs, Evelina is the first to object to Noah’s idea. 

“Puh-lease,” Noah rolls his eyes, “They’re fucking ducks. They’ll love the stuff, trust me.”

“I think I heard that makes them bloated or something,” Nyla lisps, barely holding back her tears (Noah has never seen anyone so hysteric), “I’d feel bad.”

“Yeah, but it’s their job to float, right?” Noah shakes his head...But then a light bulb goes off in his head, “Okay, I get it if you two aren’t on board. So, uh...Brandon can just tag along with me.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean, they’ve left us plenty of times, right?” Noah tries to amp his suggestion up, as if he’s offering Brandon an incredible holiday to Tenerife in which he can bring the whole family on, “I think it’s about time we get our sweet revenge.”

“Brandon,” Evelina breaks in, “I’m telling this for your own good. You’ve been here far too long. And this is coming from me - I hate this place so much that I could win a fucking medal for it. So, I’d go with Noah.”

“Yeah, you need a break!” Even Nyla, who has now cooled down, is on board too. Brandon tilts his head over to Noah.

“Well, I suppose it is me and you, Noah?”

“Y-Yeah.”

* * *

Life seemed to deliver late on that whole silence thing that Noah wanted with Lucian because this whole duck-feeding activity is being plagued by quiescence. Maybe God has his earphones in right now because all of Noah’s internal pleads for something, _ anything _ to be said is all in vain.

“I thought I would use the university park more,” Brandon finally opens his mouth, but his words come out so softly-posed that it is physically difficult for Noah to stomach. Alas, all’s fair in love and war, “Those were back in the days where I thought university would mean me sitting over on that bench over there, reading library books on the amazing world of culinary…”

“Must have been sad when you realized the truth,” Noah dryly watches a bit of the br*ad dissolve into the water, wondering why he even threw it out in the first place when the ducks are not paying him any attention, “Evelina’s right. They don’t warn us about this stuff. I should really sue my parents over this bullshit.”

“You are studying law so you would be qualified too,” Brandon, despite the duck’s disinterest, rips off a block of br*ad and hurls it into the water, “Give them a taste of their own medicine.”

“You’re being very generous with that bread…”

“As I said, the quicker it’s gone the better…” Brandon halves his remaining br*ad, too meticulously for someone that was bombing the br*ad into the water seconds ago, “Noah, can I…?”

“Uh, sure?”

“Sorry, I’m really intruding here, but…” Brandon dumps all his br*ad into the water, too carelessly for someone who was breaking it apart into delicate pieces before, “Why did you ask me out here?”

“Um, because...Evelina and Nyla are right…” Noah, realizing that he’s been gripping onto his slice of br*ad for too long, lets it sink to the bottom of the lake, “You do need a break. Hell, I don’t see you outside that damn cafe...It’s sad, really. So…”

“That’s it?” Brandon’s voice cracks, off-key to his usual pleasantries and calmness. Noah braces himself but he only gets... “That’s fair enough. Thank you. I appreciate your odd gestures of kind --”

“I like you.”

“...Excuse me?”

At last, it seems like the ducks have finally spotted the br*ad and begin a bloodbath right there and then in the lake. Is this his penalty for trying to leave the lonely hearts club? To have ducks, about to rip each other apart, in the backdrop? Noah sometimes can’t tell if his life is supposed to be funny or just plain sad.

He should back down. 

“ _ Shit _ , why did I even say that...” But there is an unreadable glint in Brandon’s eyes that tells Noah that maybe, just maybe, he should just say it: “...Wait, no. I like you, Brandon. A lot, actually. And um, that’s why I asked you here. Because I wanted...To tell you that…”

“Oh.”

Noah thought wrong.

“Brandon, please --”

“No, Noah. You  _ please _ ,” Brandon runs his hands all over his face before rearing them back near his lips (making his face even more indecipherable), “I thought you meant that. But...I was hoping I wasn’t going to have to do this. Not to you, anyway. You’re a good kid.”

“Kid?” Noah scoffs because  _ oh _ isn’t that just the pinnacle of patronizing, “Come on, don’t kid-zone me.  _ Please _ .”

“Oh. That was harsh of me,” Brandon tries to soften the blow, “...Well, how about you’re good, Noah. And nothing will change that but...I wish you didn’t say that.”

“I - How was I supposed to hold back?” Noah soldiers on, desperate to gain the upper hand, to twist the knife, to get an ounce of agreement out of Brandon: “I...I like you, Brandon, so  _ please _ \--”

“Noah, stop getting your hopes up,” Brandon peels away, punching holes in Noah’s heart, “It’s going to hurt more when I tell you.”

“Tell me what,” Noah tries to entertain the worst-case possibilities (but actively steers clear of the obvious), “You have cancer or something? That you’re going to die tomorrow?”

“I’m in love with someone else,” Brandon interrupts, as if by the skin of his teeth, as if this was the hardest on him, “And nothing is changing that fact. It’s been like this for a while so...I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Noah stops. All of his pent up anxieties, built up walls, sleepless nights going back and forth are out the window in a blink of an eye. Gone. Execution-style. They availed to nothing.

And he feels nothing. No more being stampeded by butterflies. No more blushes that resemble third-degree burns. No more being on the cusp of exploding because of Brandon damn Charlier.

It’s over. 

“So, it’s worse, eh?” Noah laughs, buying Brandon time to turn back and tell him that he was joking around, that he wasn’t serious, that he was wrong and he feels the same and... “Heh…”

“Noah, look, I still --”

...It’s hopeless.

“You’re  _ pathetic. _ ” Noah feels everything (and it hurts), “I can’t believe this. I waited all this time and you stomp on my heart like this? What’s this bullshit? You like someone else? Oh, cry me a river! You’re trying to act like the big guy here and you’re really good at it  _ but  _ you’re scum making me come out here and confess. You’re a coward, Brandon. A fucking coward.” 

“Noah, I never wanted this.” (Do you think he wanted this? To have his heart trampled on like gum on his shoe? Dismantled to the point that it has died twice?) “I never wanted you --”

“I know,” Noah grips onto the fence surrounding the lake, squeezing the splinters into his hands seamlessly, “I can get that. You never wanted _ me _ . And you never will. So why did you keep sending me all those subliminal signals? All those sweet ‘well-done’s and compliments that would make me feel physically sick to my mouth?”

“Noah, we can talk about this,” Brandon brushes his hand against Noah’s shoulder blades, “Calm down.”

“Don’t say that,” Noah slaps his hand away, shifting the power back to him, “Calm down. You sound so fucking condescending when you say it that way. Because right now, I am talking about  _ this _ . About how I’ve come out here and had you treat me as well as gum on your shoe because you can’t just move on with your life! Why do you keep holding out for this mysterious person of yours? Why do you think he will make you happy? I can make you happy, I can --”

“You already make me happy,” Brandon smiles (they’re still dreamy), “As you are. As my co-worker...As my friend. That’s all you have to do.”

“ _ No! _ ” (It’s convoluted - to think his smile is still warm and caring and handsome. Watch your duality), “No, I don’t  _ just _ want that though! You’re - Please, why can’t you move on for me? It’s...Sickening, you’re such a degenerate and I hate you for this and --” 

“You’re being a hypocrite.” Brandon contemns, stabbing Noah in the back again. Noah subdues, wordless. Brandon resigns: “I’m sorry, but are you hearing yourself, Noah? About how I have to move on? I understand you are upset, Noah, but...You have to respect my decision. I am...There is still a chance for me.”

“...But none for me, huh?”

Noah tries to find dignity in him to bite the dust and walk away. It would be for the best. He rakes around his mind for the game-changer that will make him bold and brave and brash enough to go on.

He comes back empty-handed.

“I’m sorry.” Brandon perks up at the sound of Noah’s sniffling, “Hey, Noah? Are you - Oh, God - Take these --”

“I don’t want your damn tissues,” Noah wipes his nose with the knuckle of his hand, “I don’t want you being kind to me or talking to me. I’d rather have you treat me like dirt. It’s unfair - after all, I said to, you’re still --”

“Noah…It’s okay.”

“No.  _ No. _ ” Noah recoils away from Brandon, “I can’t do this. I  _ won’t _ do this.”

Noah pants, unfathomable tiredness irking his entire system. It is time to stand-down.

And, at Godspeed, Noah bails away from Brandon. He knows he’s amping up the theatrics here but a part of him wants Brandon to call after him or to chase after him or to catch him and bring him to a middle ground. But...Brandon doesn’t. He wouldn’t undermine Noah to the point of treating him like an insolent child. That’s rock bottom for an adult.

But.

He wants to kick and scream as Brandon tries to talk him down and the two of them to go back and forth as they keep finding loopholes in what the other is saying. He wants to scream until his lungs give out and cry until his tear ducts go dry. He wants to be unceremonious and fulminating and an embarrassment to be around.

He’s sick of being in eternal debt. He’s sick of going to the same tortuous job every day. He’s sick that his motivation for studying law is to be valued by others. 

He  _ hates _ it. Damn it all to Hell.

Noah bumps into someone. Great. Now he has to put on his adult face and pretend that he isn’t in meltdown mode.

“Guh! Watch where you’re going - damn, I didn’t know they stacked shit that high. How tall even are you - Lucian?”

Lucian smirks, albeit apathetic.

“‘Sup.” 

“Heh, I’ve never realized how tall you are.” Noah examines Lucian top-to-toe, “Seriously, you’re giving the Eiffel Tower a run for their money.”

“So…” Lucian shoves his hands into his pocket, “Do you actually need a tissue?”

“What?” It’s slow-dawning at first but then... “Dude, were you eavesdropping?”

“Not intentionally.”

“Shit…” Noah cringes, “Look, I didn’t mean for you to hear that. It was my mistake, so --”

“Don’t beat yourself over this,” Lucian fiddles with a strand of his hair, “I wasn’t a very good ‘love-advisor’, huh? Maybe next time you should go to a real charmer.”

“Lucian,” Noah cautions, “Don’t start with me.”

“I’m not starting with you,” Lucian assures, “I’m saying how things are. I guess it was kind of obvious that you had a thing for Brandon too. My bad for not noticing sooner.”

Lucian, wavering ever so slightly, decidedly hammers the last nail on the coffin.

“You know, when I mentioned about Brandon liking someone, your face lit up like a kid on Christmas day. It was a-dor-a-ble.”

“...Yeah.” Noah bites his lip, “I think - I’m going to head back to the cafe. I’m still on my shift.”

“Hey, Noah, you don’t have to go back if you don’t --”

“I’m going.” Noah doesn’t even give Lucian a chance, “See you.”


	5. To Understand

They say art calms the soul. Eases the mind. Makes you spiritual. Etc, etc. You would think that watching someone paint would be the next best thing for people, like Noah, who can’t draw a stickman and can’t be bothered to learn. 

Except it’s the polar opposite. It’s  _ unnerving _ because Daniel has some underlying murderous intent just from the way he holds the paintbrush. You would think he was once part of the military the way he is assaulting his campus.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Noah tries to shake off how disarming Daniel is to watch with his run-of-the-mill teasing, “Woah, it looks like mister ‘my-art-block-is-so-bad-that-they-might-kick-me-off-the-course’ is...Painting?”

“You sound way too proud.”

“I am proud,” Noah’s voice doesn’t even change pitch: “Very proud.”

“Sheesh, I know I give my gratitude and shit but something about you’re never genuine about this stuff,” Daniel takes a breather from attacking his campus (which, admittedly, is to Noah’s relief), “I’m not about to take the bait on whatever you’re plotting.”

“Aww, Daniel,” Noah pouts like a doleful puppy waiting outside the supermarket for its owner, “Man, that’s sad. Do you really think that when I do show an ounce of appreciation for you it’s a joke?”

“Yes.”

“You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“Hey, Noah.” Daniel weaponises his paintbrush once again, pivoting another splodge of paint onto his canvas, “Aren’t you supposed to be on your shift right now?”

“Yep.”

“Shit - I’ve - No, you should leave,” Daniel wields away from the canvas, almost pirouetting paint smack dab on Noah’s face, “I heard they’re really fucking messed up for cutting down wages a whole ton for tardiness so you should really --”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Wait, what?” Daniel’s worry manifests more, “But what about you bitching about how you’re so poor that you can’t even afford the Happy Meal at McDonald's?”

“Pff, as if I would want a McDonalds’ Happy Meal,” Noah swings back on his seat, “You and I both know that we’ve had enough McDonalds to last us a lifetime. But also...Don’t really care.”

“Hm, whatever you say then.”

Without warning, there is an anthem of trumpets and a chorus of choir singers knocking down the door...And dear reader, we both know that is a big, fat lie. The contrary happens instead. Unalloyed, unadulterated silence. 

“Um, Noah?” Daniel starts, “Hey, you know how you asked about...Lucian. Yeah, the other day or something?”

“Oh. That?” Even though now would be the perfect time to exploit Daniel’s ravenous desire to bone Lucian, Noah seems to miss the memo and instead, ho-hums in: “Nah - don’t think too much about it. I mean, I already outed you so he doesn’t have any --”

“Noah, is this about him?”

“What even…” Noah scoffs - is this Daniel getting back at him? He isn’t going to succumb that easily, “I only brought him up last time because I knew you two were friends when you were younger. I just...Daniel,  _ please _ , I was just messing with you.”

“Tchah, guess you ain’t going to open up about him then…” Daniel sighs, “I’m just saying that I saw you two together though. Didn’t know if it meant something or not.”

“Don’t tell me you’re upset about --”

“God, no,” Daniel wrings the hairs of his paintbrush, getting dozens of colours on his fingertips, “I’m...Past that now, okay? I mean, yeah, maybe I was. But there’s no point in feeling that way.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Look, Noah,” Daniel comes in heavy-handed, “You’re obviously upset about some shit or whatever. You’re acting more lacklustre than usual.”

“I’ll write about my woes in my secret diary later,” Noah smirks like the Cheshire Cat, wanting to throw Daniel off his worry-radar, “Trust me. It’s fine.  _ I’m _ fine.”

“Noah. Shit, can you just stop trying to eff with me?” Daniel calls his bluff, “It’s not even funny when you’re not putting your backside into it.”

“Daniel, you’re taking this  _ way _ too seriously --”

“Can you just fucking listen to me?” Daniel shouts. Noah surrenders, all his attention captured. Daniel redoubles: “Alright, sorry. But what I’ve been trying to say here is...Christ, you’re hard to talk to. Wait,  _ no _ . I mean, I get this is sort of girly to say but if this is about Lucian and you two...Well, if something happened between you two - Try and move on, yeah?”

“You sound like the message behind every cheesy break-up ballad ever made,” Noah does a little applause (because he doesn’t need to be talked down to. Jesus, that is the  _ last _ thing he needs), “Well done.”

“Noah,  _ listen to me _ .” Daniel rubs the back of his head (and Noah can’t help but think that mere moments ago, Daniel was using that very hand to gloss over his paint-ridden brush), “You were...Fucking right about Lucian. I had a massive thing for him in the past - but he didn’t really feel the same. Probably because I was such a weirdo about it. At least now though I’ve started to find other uses of my time. Like, honestly, I wouldn’t have met you and Ciara if I didn’t stop chasing after Lucian. So --”

“I can’t believe you outed yourself even more,” Noah fake-gasps: “Voluntarily.”

“God, Noah,” Whatever inner monologue Daniel was having has gone down the drain: “Pshaw. Just forget I said anything.”

“No, no. You should have asked me to bring a camera along for your little TED talk,” Noah grins from ear to ear: “It was badass.”

“Never say that again.” 

“It was _ epic _ .” 

“No.”

“A true gamer moment.”

“For fuck’s sake, go to Hell.”

* * *

“Son of a bitch!” Noah is  _ not _ winning this duel, “Stop - Why are you like this? Come on, why are you doing this to good old uncle Noah?”

To the naked eye, Noah is arguing to himself. But before you call an ambulance, just remember that there is a good reason why people talk to themselves. Like, take for example, when they have a hungry-for-blood chicken to control.

Okay, maybe you should call an ambulance.

Noah crams the chicken through the car’s open window, backing off slowly just to make sure everything is in place. 

“Okay, good to go.”

Noah runs off, knowing that if the chicken goes  _ Super Saiyan  _ that it will be someone else’s problem. And, like clockwork, Noah finds just who he is looking for.

“Yo, Lucian!” Noah’s face screws up when Lucian keeps walking. He knows this is a taste of his own medicine, but still: “Don’t try and pretend you didn’t hear me now. I’m pretty sure there’s only one bigfoot and I’m looking right at him.”

“Oh, do you want me to pose for the camera or something?” Lucian’s smirk falls off on an instant: “Look, Noah --”

“I need you, right now.” Noah, trying to leave all the serious business until later, grabs Lucian’s arm and swerves to move off: “You won’t regret it.”

“Er, alright.”

“Just - trust me on this, right?”

“I didn’t say otherwise.”

“So, why did you drag me behind this bush?”

“Isn’t that your cue to make some dirty comment?”

“Oh!” Lucian chews his lip but only comes up with: “Well, are we going to fuck behind here or something...Is that what you --”

“Come on, that was lame.” (Seriously, if there was a class for dirty jokes, that one would be a failing grade): “You weren’t even trying.”

“Seriously, Noah, what’s --”

And, just like magic, the man of the hour arrives. Noel, with his sidekicks Natsumi and Emiko, approaches the car. Noah shushes Lucian and beckons him to watch the show unfold.

“GAK!” Noel tumbles back, fighting for his breath, “W - Why is there a chicken in my car?”

“Just open the car quickly,” Natsumi smiles, her inner turmoil of  _ Oh my god why am I friends with this loser  _ already kick-starting, “It’s no biggie.”

“Uh, yeah!” Noel whips around, “Yes, it is,  _ Natsumi _ . Those things are evil, I’m telling you! I bet you it has rabies or something! Just - Guh...Looking at it is just making me uneasy.”

Emiko, going through the same thought process as Natsumi, has already undertaken to steal the car keys out of Noel’s pocket. 

“I’ll open the car --”

“NO! That won’t help, Emiko!” Noel tries to wrestle the keys back from Emiko, but, as expected from a weakling, it doesn’t work: “Just --”

“Just what? Wait for it to starve?”

“Yes! Wait, no! Wait, I --” Natsumi squirms at Noel’s indecisiveness, pushing Noel to breaking point even further: “Argh! Why does this keep happening to meee.”

The only hard thing about this stunt of Noah’s is trying to keep his trap shut because oh my God and sweet Jesus does Noel have a raging phobia of chickens. This is the pinnacle of comedy. This is  _ golden _ .

“Pfft, you know, it was easy enough getting a chicken,” Noah tries to explain his prank in all its glory (only to distract himself from the fact that his lungs might malfunction any second)< “I guess people just have them lying around?”

“I think you might have awakened some suppressed phobia in him,” Lucian slaps Noah’s back hard (meaning that it’s set in stone that Noah’s lungs won’t outlast this interaction), “Congratulations.” 

“Oh please. That was just a bonus.” Noah finally controls his laughter and turns to Lucian: “So, have I met the job description? The quota or whatever you want to call it?”

“Eh?”

“I don’t know why I’m asking you to think hereafter you proved you were mentally handicapped after that ‘date’ of yours,” Lucian still doesn’t catch on. Noah puts it in plain English: “I’m talking about the whole partner-in-crime thingy. I’m pretty sure that’s what you lamely called it.”

“Oh, that?” Lucian subdues, his laughter dissolving into the air: “That...Noah, I don’t say this a lot but - It was just a pick-up line, you know? I didn’t mean much by it...And, you don’t have to do all this. If this is just a way to make me feel better, then I appreciate it but --”

“Nuh-uh,” Noah isn’t about to back down: “What kind of sad-ass would I be if...I have better uses of my time. I’m actually hurt that you think I’m just going to be some bitch-baby over this whole thing. What am I, a pubescent young girl?”

“Are you going to tell me that you’re on your period now?”

“Now I’m heartbroken. Shit, do you really think I’d snoop down that low, Lucian?” “Unlike you, my sense of humour is refined. Calculated and cool.” 

“You know,” Lucian points to a patch of grass just overhead, “We can start wrestling over there if you want to fight it out. It would be  _ super _ hot.”

“Is that what I have to look forward to in our next lame date?” Noah bowls his eyes to the back of his head: “Honestly, that’s just unsanitary Lucian. I mean, I’ve already topped that last crappy date of yours with this? When is the next time you’re going to see Noel have an anxiety attack over a chicken?”

“Huh?” Lucian pauses, before mincing out: “What do you mean...Date?”

“This is a date.”

“O-Oh?”

“Yep.” Lucian stares at Noah like a goldfish on fire. Noah sighs: “I’d rather have you not drool about it. I know you revealed to me that you’re actually a sad virgin who thinks watching porn on the first date is a good idea but still --”

“No, I’m just processing this,” Lucian tries to gather the shards of his dignity: “You’re so naive, Noah. Thinking that this is enough to beat me. Pshaw.”

Lucian’s head drops, shaking his head momentarily, before rising again.

“Next time, I’ll knock your fucking socks off.”

At that instant, it clicks.

Noah has been an advocate of relentlessly calling Lucian an idiot but now he realizes, as mind-boggling it may be, he is the idiot. Yes, him, the ingenious Noah, is a downright idiot.

Because to make a club, you need at least two members. And, although the name may lead to think otherwise, the lonely hearts club is no exception. 


End file.
